“No one here thinks so of you, Mr. Orme.”
“No one here thinks what?”
“That it was—unreasonable in you to propose to Madeline. We all know that you did her much honour.”
“Psha!” said he, turning away from her.
“Ah! but you must listen to me. That is what we all think—Madeline herself, and I, and her father. No one who knows you could think otherwise. We all like you, and know how good and excellent you are. And as to worldly station, of course you stand above her.”
“Psha!” he said again angrily. How could anyone presume to talk of the worldly station of his goddess? For just then Madeline Staveley to him was a goddess!
“That is what we think, indeed, Mr. Orme. As for myself, had my girl come to me telling me that you had proposed to her, and telling me also that—that—that she felt that she might probably like you, I should have been very happy to hear it.” And Lady Staveley as she spoke, put out her hand to him.
“But what did she say?” asked Peregrine, altogether disregarding the hand.
“Ah, she did not say that. She told me that she had declined the honour that you had offered her;—that she did not regard you as she must regard the man to whom she would pledge her heart.”
“But did she say that she could never love me?” And now as he asked the question he stood up again, looking down with all his eyes into Lady Staveley’s face—that face which would have been so friendly to him, so kind and so encouraging, had it been possible.
“Never is a long word, Mr. Orme.”
“Ah, but did she say it? Come, Lady Staveley; I know I have been a fool, but I am not a cowardly fool. If it be so;—if I have no hope, tell me at once, that I may go away. In that case I shall be better anywhere out of the county.”
“I cannot say that you should have no hope.”
“You think then that there is a chance?” and for a moment he looked as though all his troubles were nearly over.
“If you are so impetuous, Mr. Orme, I cannot speak to you. If you will sit down for a minute or two I will tell you exactly what I think about it.” And then he sat down, trying to look as though he were not impetuous. “I should be deceiving you if I were not to tell you that she speaks of the matter as though it were all over—as though her answer to you was a final one.”
“Ah; I knew it was so.”
“But then, Mr. Orme, many young ladies who have been at the first moment quite as sure of their decision have married the gentlemen whom they refused, and have learned to love them with all their hearts.”
“But she isn’t like other girls,” said Peregrine.
“I believe she is a great deal better than many, but nevertheless she may be like others in that respect. I do not say that it will be so, Mr. Orme. I would not on any account give you hopes which I believed to be false. But if you are anxious in the matter—”
“I am as anxious about it as I am about my soul!”
“Oh fie, Mr. Orme! You should not speak in that way. But if you are anxious, I would advise you to wait.”
“And see her become the wife of someone else.”
“Listen to me, Mr. Orme. Madeline is very young. And so indeed are you too;—almost too young to marry as yet, even if my girl were willing that it should be so. But we all like you very much; and as you both are so very young, I think that you might wait with patience—say for a year. Then come to Noningsby again, and try your fortune once more. That is my advice.”
“Will you tell me one thing, Lady Staveley?”
“What is that, Mr. Orme?”
“Does she care for anyone else?”
Lady Staveley was prepared to do anything she could for her young friend except to answer that question. She did believe that Madeline cared for somebody else—cared very much. But she did not think that any way would be opened by which that caring would be made manifest; and she thought also that if wholly ungratified by any word of intercourse that feeling would die away. Could she have told everything to Peregrine Orme she would have explained to him that his best chance lay in that liking for Felix Graham; or, rather, that as his rejection had been caused by that liking, his chance would be good again when that liking should have perished from starvation. But all this Lady Staveley could not explain to him; nor would it have been satisfactory to her feelings had it been in her power to do so. Still there remained the question, “Does she care for anyone else?”
“Mr. Orme,” she said, “I will do all for you that a mother can do or ought to do; but I must not admit that you have a right to ask such a question as that. If I were to answer that now, you would feel yourself justified in asking it again when perhaps it might not be so easy to answer.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Staveley;” and Peregrine blushed up to his eyes. “I did not intend—”
“No; do not beg my pardon, seeing that you have given me no offence. As I said just now, all that a mother can and ought to do I will do for you. I am very frank, and tell you that I should be rejoiced to have you for my son-in-law.”
“I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you.”
“But neither by me nor by her father will any constraint ever be put on
